


Start Over

by lightthornn



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Arguing, Confessions, Fighting, First Kiss, M/M, i miss them so here you go, thomas and alastair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27873465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightthornn/pseuds/lightthornn
Summary: Thomas can't hate Alastair. But he can't forgive him either.Alastair can't forgive himself. He can't hate Thomas for hating him.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Start Over

Thomas walked out of the Enclave meeting with Anna, listening to her talk about the latest girl she had wooed over and then broke her heart. If it was anyone but Anna Lightwood talking to him, then he would be a little concerned. But with Anna, he would be more concerned if she didn't break a girl's heart, 

"What about you, Thomas?" Anna asked, turning towards him. "Find any girls who've caught your interest?"

Thomas shook his head. "No. Nobody," He said. There wasn't anyone he had met who had really caught his interest in the way it should be caught- even the girl he had pretended to have a crush on when he was younger. He still wondered if anyone else remembered that.

Anna raised an eyebrow. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

"I'm not lying to you, Anna. Why would I lie to you?" Thomas asked, feeling his cheeks heat up even though he didn't know why. 

"Hm," Anna hummed, stepping a little in front of him. "I just thought, the way that you looked at Alastair,"

Thomas nearly choked on air. "Alastair? Carstairs?" He sputtered, not having a clue where she had gotten that idea from.

"Do we know any other Alastairs?" Anna asked. 

"I am not interested in him in the slightest," Thomas assured her, though even he felt the hesitance in his voice. He wondered where that came from, how he was doubting something he should know well. 

Anna didn't say anything for a while, then turned and pulled him away to the side of the hall. "Thomas. The way you look at him is like he is the only light in a world filled with darkness. It's the way I look-" She gulped. "It reminds me of the way Cordelia looks at James, or my father looks at my mother. How your parents look at each other. Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa," 

Thomas looked down at the floor. "It's _Alastair_ ," He said. Alastair had been the one to spread all of those horrible rumors when they had been at the Academy. 

"You think that we really get to choose who we fall for?" Anna asked, a harsh laugh to her voice. "If we were able to, I reckon that the world would be a much easier place to navigate. If you ever need to talk to anyone, please know that I am here, and I am sure to be able to help you," She patted his shoulder and started to step away. "I have somewhere I need to be," 

Thomas watched her go, memories of Paris and feeling like nothing mattered flooding his mind, matched with dark eyes and a light smile. Paris was something few people knew about. Matthew had known he had gone, but he would have a right fit if he found out who Thomas had spent his time with. As far as he knew, the time was something secret between him and Alastair, unless he had told someone, which Thomas couldn't see happening. He remembered the way everything had stopped when Alastair had looked at his tattoo, and how cold his skin had felt after Alastair had moved his hand away. 

He was so distracted that he didn't see the person in front of him, who ran right into him, bumping Thomas back a few steps. 

Thomas began to apologize before he saw the dark hair in front of him, mumbling and staring at the floor. Of course. Of all people, the universe just had to send Alastair towards him without even a warning. Just his luck. 

"Lightwood," Alastair snarled, already trying to step away. 

"Carstairs," Thomas said, nodding down at him as Alastair glared at him. 

Alastair didn't seem to want to say anything else. He stepped to the side and started to leave, but Thomas found himself reaching out and grabbing his arm before he could leave. He didn't know why he had done it, just that it had felt like the right thing to do. 

"What do you want?" Alastair snapped, turning back to look at Thomas. 

What did Thomas want? Even he didn't quite know the answer to that. 

Alastair rolled his eyes. "If all you're going to do is tell me about how horrible I am, don't. Fairchild does enough of that already,"

"I don't think you're horrible," Thomas said quietly. He should hate Alastair more than anyone else. Alastair had contributed to his parents crying when they thought Thomas was asleep, or the tense shoulders whenever someone saw Charlotte and his father in the same place at the same time and gave them a suspicious glance. Yet, Thomas couldn't find it in himself to ever hate Alastair, no matter how hard he tried. 

Alastair's eyes widened in shock. "You can't think that. I was awful to you and your family," 

"I know that," Thomas said, looking down at the ground. 

"You don't have to pretend to be nice to me, Lightwood. I would understand completely if you were to hate me. If the roles were reversed, I think that I would hate me as well," Alastair said stiffly. 

"I don't have to pretend to be nice to you," Thomas managed to say. And he really didn't have to. Being nice to Alastair was easier than he would ever imagine it would be. Even at the Academy, he had always wanted to be nice to him, even after everything he did to Thomas' friends. 

Alastair laughed; a cold laugh with no happiness within it. "Of course you do,"

"Since when do you know me so well?" Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Maybe I don't," Alastair said with a shrug. "But if someone were to spread rumors like the ones I did about my own family, I would find it incredibly difficult to be kind to them,"

"I had thought that before as well," Thomas said. When he was younger, he had told himself he would ruin whoever tried to touch his family and friends. What had happened?

"Is Fairchild around here somewhere? Just waiting to jump out and scare me?" Alastair looked around suspiciously. "Herondale perhaps? The other Lightwood? The other _other_ Lightwood?" 

"No!" Thomas said, probably a little too loud. "No, nobody else is here?" 

"Then why are you talking to me?" 

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and finally met Alastair's dark eyes. "I don't know! Because it's been killing me not talking to you, and I know I should hate you but hell- I can't hate you," 

Both of them stood there in the empty hallway, staring at each other; the only sound in the area that of them breathing. 

"Not hating me is an awful idea on your end," Alastair said. His voice sounded weaker than it had been just moments before. "You don't know me," 

"Maybe I don't. But I do know how much you love art, how you could look at it and talk forever without running out of things to say. I know what cafés you like best in Paris, and I know that you don't really like to talk about your family much, and I know that deep down, you're a good person," Thomas blurted out, not even realizing what he had been saying before the words had already left his mouth. 

Alastair's jaw fell open while Thomas' cheeks heated up. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Alastair asked. "I could talk about the things I know about you if you really want. I know that you only like coffee after you fill it almost purely with sugar, and that you're more quiet, you see things. You like listening to people rather than talking yourself," Alastair himself seemed like he couldn't believe what he had said, as he clamped his mouth shut. "You aren't the only one who remembers Paris," 

Paris. When Thomas would think about Alastair, there would be three different versions of him in his mind. The Alastair he had thought he knew before Paris, the one he had got to know while he was there, and the one after. 

"We never talked about Paris," Thomas said shakily. 

"I know that we didn't," Alastair said, taking a small step forward. To look right at Thomas, he had to crane his neck up. 

"I thought that you didn't want to remember it," Thomas said. He had never been able to figure out what had really happened in the City of Love. He had spent more time trying to figure it out than he would admit. More nights wide awake in his bed, thinking of the way Alastair looked when he laughed. When he really laughed. Paris was the only place Thomas had seen him laugh like that. 

Alastair shook his head. "I would never want to forget those days. I- didn't know how to approach the subject, or how-" He stopped talking. "Did _you_ want to forget it?" 

Thomas hadn't been able to figure out what he felt about the time he had spent with Alastair, but he knew that he never wanted to forget it. "No," He whispered. 

"I never even told Cordelia about it, you know," Alastair said. "Not a soul knows," 

"Except for ours," 

Alastair gave him a small smile. "Except for our very souls," 

"What really happened there?" Thomas asked, not being able to stop the question from escaping. 

"Oh, Thomas," Alastair said. "What did happen there?" 

Thomas nodded. 

"Well... that was the first time I realized I might just be in love with you, for one," 

Thomas' eyes widened as he stared down, and Alastair paled. 

"I did not mean to say that," Alastair said quickly. "I- I need to go," 

Thomas wondered if this was what Anna was talking about earlier. It had to be. And then, he had thought he wasn't interested at all. But if the images in his mind said anything- they told him that he was more than interested in Alastair. 

Alastair moved to leave again, and again, Thomas grabbed his arm. Glancing around rapidly, he found a broom closet and pulled Alastair into it, shutting the door behind both of them. 

"Wha-" Alastair started to ask. 

Thomas didn't let him finish what he had been about to say, pushing Alastair up against the wall and leaning down, kissing him before he could lose his nerve. 

For a truly horrifying second, Alastair was frozen against him, and Thomas worried that he had done everything wrong; that he had messed everything up and ruined everything. 

But then Alastair was kissing him back, leaning up so Thomas wasn't leaning down as much. 

And suddenly, Thomas understood when Anna and Matthew would talk about kissing someone. But at the same time, it was so much better than any kiss either of them had ever described. Alastair's hands were in his hair and his own were cupping Alastair's face, and nothing had ever felt as perfect as this. 

"I love you too," Thomas mumbled against his lips, not a doubt in his mind. 

Alastair pulled away after a long few moments, and Thomas couldn't help but feel disappointment upon being ripped away from that feeling. 

Alastair, too, was the first to speak. "Let's start over," 

"Do we have to?" 

And Alastair's laugh was a sound Thomas wanted the bottle up and keep forever as he leaned down again and brought their lips together a second time. 


End file.
